A Door in Time
by Lancelotlaureate
Summary: When the Doctor, Ian, Barbara and Susan arrive at a war memorial in 2017, they are shocked to meet a famous World War I poet and Ian finds himself in the trenches where he meets a mysterious boy with a fob watch.


A Door in Time

"...My friend, you would not tell with such high zest, to children ardent for some desperate glory, the old lie, Dulce et Decorum est; pro patria mori."- Wilfred Owen.

My story begins in 1917 amidst the guns and the bitter winter chill of France. Of course I was not from 1917 I was from 1963, a time traveller. No one ever believes me when I tell them that but that is understandable. Who would ever believe such a thing as a blue police box that moves in time and space could transport four people into the fourth dimension and into any conceivable time and place.

As the soldiers stared to the sky they would never imagine that the stars were more than a reality for me; I had touched them. I was in that trench in 1917 but not as Ian Chesterton, for some reason I was believed to be someone else, a younger man, a poet named Wilfred Owen...

When I, Barbara, Susan and the Doctor arrived, the air was cold and the grass was damp. The Doctor was bent over examining something, his body arched, Barbara and I wondered what he was doing; when we questioned him he produced a tatty newspaper in a sepia colour. He swiped me with the paper.

"Dear boy, read the date," he said.

I scanned the paper; my heart sank for a moment, "2017?" I murmured and saw that Barbara's expression was the same as mine.

I noted to the Doctor that once again he'd taken us to the wrong time.

"Only by fifty four years my boy," remarked the Doctor clutching his lapels.

I caught Barbara's glance and laughed. "Maybe we should look ourselves up we'd only be in our eighties." I replied.

The old man totted, throwing his cape over his shoulder. Susan followed him, suddenly aware of her surroundings. I hadn't even noticed the thousands of gravestones lined in perfect symmetry and so uniformed that the image was haunting and solemn. I knew instantly that it was one of the war memorials in France, I paused, frowned, thinking of my father a mere boy of eighteen when he entered the Great War in 1917 and the stories about the war he had been too afraid to ever recall . I could see that Barbara and Susan had the same saddened expression as me, the same deep thoughts racing through their busy minds and that this was a poignant moment for us all.

The Doctor still seemed annoyed with my comments about not getting us to the 1960's and paced the graves back and forth eyeing me from time to time, it made me feel like a naughty schoolboy. Susan was examining the graves closely, they weren't in much detail but her fascination didn't falter as her eyes fell upon each one at a time.

My next recollections are a little hazy but I saw the Doctor looking at me with a confused expression. I wanted to call out to him and ask what was happening to me, I don't know how to explain it, I really don't but I suddenly felt weightless, like I was about to faint, my eyes began to blur, I noticed my hearing faltering- just the distant voice of Barbara ringing in my mind. Blueness swirled around me like a vortex, like a whirlwind.

"Ian, what's wrong? Ian! Ian!" I heard Barbara shout.

I wanted to reply, let her know my pains but I couldn't speak, the words seemed unable to escape my lips and I could see Barbara before my eyes, she was a blur but I could make out that she looked scared.

To this day I have no idea what exactly happened and why it happened, all I am sure for certain is that when I finally opened my eyes I was in a creaky old hospital bed. The smell was overwhelming; stale blood and sweat and the sounds were disturbing some I never want to hear again. When my eyesight finally returned and I hastily blinked to make sure that it wasn't a dream, I realised I was in some sort of makeshift hospital and I was feverous, my muscles ached and I had no idea why I was there, I had little energy even to sit up and take in what was happening. Other men lay beside me, they were clearly soldiers who had been in battle and I was all too aware that Barbara, the Doctor and Susan were not with me.

Was I in the past? I had to be I told myself. The uniforms they were reminiscent of World War I. It occurred to me that maybe I was dreaming; that the images before my eyes were no more than illusions; after all I had been standing at the graves of the fallen soldiers in 2017 and now I was there. My scientific mind told me there was a reasonable explanation but as I watched in horror as the man in the bed beside me, fell, coughing up blood, his face adorned with agonising expression and dying before my very eyes, could I really still be dreaming? I doubted it now; my memory had never conjured up such horrific and realistic images before, images that haunted men like my father for the rest of their lives.

As I gasped, opening my mouth, desperately trying to speak, find out what was happening, I realised I couldn't get any words out except a feverous mumble and a squeak that only a mouse would understand. I was mopped on the brow suddenly by a young soldier, not much more than a boy. I wondered why I did so. His arm resting in a tight sling, his face a mass of cuts. I tried to speak again but to no avail. The boy hushed me.

"Try not to speak, Wilfred." He said softly, "You must rest."

Wilfred? Why was he calling me Wilfred I wondered? I was delirious but I was aware who I was. I looked up at him with a baffled expression.

"It's me, Latimer, Timothy Latimer," the boy said.

I knew of no such person but the name did sound a little familiar, before I could really take in more information I faded out of consciousness.

But Wilfred, the real Wilfred not the false one named Ian, was lying in 2017 in the war graves and he was shadowed by the standing bodies of The Doctor, Barbara and Susan. To this day I am only aware of these events by the stories that Barbara has told me and I'm sure she could tell it with more accuracy and poetry than I ever could but for the purpose of continuity I will proceed with the story of Wilfred Owen a hundred years into his future lying unconscious on the graves of the fallen.

Wilfred's eyes flickered slowly before waking to see my companions standing over him. Whilst Barbara helped him to his feet, the Doctor drew upon young Wilfred like a vulture.

"My boy, my boy, you are not Chesterton!" He said to him.

Wilfred gulped and rubbed his eyes; he scanned the area and stared at the graves that faced him. Barbara had told the Doctor to be quiet as she and Susan tended to a delusional Wilfred.

"But where's Ian?" Susan asked Barbara.

Barbara's eyes showed a hint of worry, "I'm not certain Susan," Barbara replied, "It was strange, one moment we were staring at an unconscious Ian, then an unconscious soldier."

Wilfred gripped Susan's hand, the mud on his skin now transferred to hers and he began to speak slowly but surely, "Where am I?"

"You're in 2017, in France," Barbara told him.

Susan then explained what had happened, how I had been there moments earlier, how I had faded away and he had appeared. Wilfred was indeed sceptical of the strangers and of what he was being told, his face was young and his eyes held an expression of both fear and wonder. The Doctor asked him his name.

"Wilfred Owen," He replied.

Barbara could hardly contain herself. A sense of both excitement and sadness that she was face to face with the great World War I poet. She tried to remain cool, but she felt like she had just met John Lennon or Ringo Starr and had an urge to shake his hand and congratulate him on how brilliant he was.

"You're Wilfred Owen?" She repeated.

"I was unwell, I fell through a hole into a cellar, I was concussed, suffering with fever. Am I imagining you? Hallucinating in a delusional state?" He said.

"If only that were so my dear boy," said the Doctor. Barbara and Susan helped Wilfred to his feet. Barbara had never seen the face of the poet whose verse she so admired, she almost forget that he was only in his twenties and for a moment was struck by the horror of the knowledge of his death that was to occur in 1918.

When I awoke a second time, my eyes began filling in the images of the blur in front of me. I shook my head in disbelief and remembered where I was. He was still there, Timothy Latimer he said his name was and he was looking down at me with a concerned expression; he looked no older than some of my students but with an endearing curiosity so many of them lacked. I sat up suddenly, the smell making me want to get out as quickly as possible, find Barbara, the Doctor and Susan but Latimer held me down to stop me.

"Wilfred you're sick, you must rest," he said, his voice was soft and calming.

"I need to find my friends," I whispered.

"I'm afraid many have died Wilfred," he let out softly, "we've all lost friends."

I wondered why he thought my name was Wilfred. How did he know me? Surely my face was un-recognizable to him as his was to mine.

"How do you know me?" I asked with a shaky voice.

Timothy let out a smile, "I know you only by reputation Wilfred, you are popular and I hear you are gifted with words, always seen writing in that notebook of yours, I offered immediately to help you recover."

I was even more confused now, "why...why do you call me Wilfred?" I stammered.

"That's your name isn't it? Wilfred Owen?"

I didn't reply, the name Wilfred Owen resounded in my mind's ear. The poet, the man of the trenches and Latimer thought I was _he_. For a moment in my delusional state I started to question who I was, considered that I _Was _Wilfred Owen and that the man I thought of as Ian Chesterton wasn't real, was a story, a character...and Barbara nothing but an illusion.

"What about Ian Chesterton?" I asked softly hoping to find out if I was going mad. Timothy's face once again portrayed confusion.

"I'm not sure I know a man of this name, is he in your infantry?"

I shook my head in disagreement. I could tell that something was very wrong. I was sure now that I _Was _Ian Chesterton and I had been standing in the future looking at the graves of the fallen and somehow I'd taken Wilfred's place or we'd been swapped. But why? And then I felt sick, my memory of Wilfred's death creeping into mind. What if I was stuck here and forced to live Wilfred's final days, could I consider that an alien was to blame, taking me in order to save Wilfred Owen? If I was to die then they would know me to be a different man, a normal man of no talents such as Wilfred and Wilfred would be missing in action, his whereabouts never known. History altered forever...

The Doctor was examining the graves now, bending over looking carefully at the names. Barbara felt the tears in her eyes as Wilfred stared too at the sea of war graves stretching to the distance.

"I have seen hell," He began. "But none such as this."

Susan put her arm around him as her grandfather stood still, his body motionless, his face staring at one grave in particular.

"What is it Grandfather?" Susan asked, Barbara joined her and they approached the Doctor with reluctance at what he had found.

"This is not good," The Doctor said as he pointed to the grave. Susan's voice trembled as she read it aloud. "Ian Chesterton, died in action, March 1918."

Barbara's face went pale her eyes filling with tears. "It can't...he can't." She said her voice shaking.

"I'm afraid it is." The Doctor said sadly, looking around as if baffled by the events as my companions.

"So Ian's dead?" Barbara let out in a whisper. "He's dead...died just now, but...he's been lying here nearly a hundred years."

"Yes," Replied the Doctor.

Barbara felt angry. "But who grieved him? No-one knew and no one grieved him for a hundred years."

"Calm down dear girl," Said the Doctor tapping her on the shoulder. "Chesterton is very good at getting out of these situations remember?"

"Good at getting out of it? Doctor, he's dead, has been here for a hundred years. He dies in those trenches, we have proof. How can he get out of it?" Barbara shouted.

Wilfred sensed the desperation in Barbara's voice and he took her hand. "Who is this Ian Chesterton?" He asked with warmth.

Barbara wasn't sure how to answer. "Our friend Ian." She replied simply.

"You see my boy," The Doctor began to a bemused Wilfred. "You were in 1917, Ian was here with us and for some unexplained reason you've switched places."

Wilfred looked at the Doctor, he seemed to take the news well and seemed fascinated by the further explanation from the mad man with the wild white hair. Wilfred admired the man, saw something in him that he liked, he looked fondly at the women too, their compassion was strange to him.

"I've been moved from my timeline," Wilfred began his voice hoarse. "I'm here in the year 2017, safe and sound and your friend has been moved to my time where he is amidst terror and death."

His eyes fell upon Barbara who was wiping away a tear.

"I have taken his place and now he will die." He said sadly as if it was his own fault.

I nervously approached a band of soldiers as they squatted in a muddy dirty trench. I had never imagined the sheer horror as I saw the Great War in front of me. Timothy led me into the depths of the trench where the sound of the shell fire was so deafening I was convinced I would lose my hearing altogether. I sat still on the ground awaiting orders, knowing I had no military experience as a soldier; my RAF days certainly were no use to me now. My gun rested beside me, I clutched it not wanting to let it go, a soldier leaned over handed me a cigarette. I certainly didn't refuse and lit it whilst my hands trembled. I noticed the man was looking at me.

"I haven't seen you before." He said.

I wondered how to respond, Latimer was in earshot.

"I'm new," I let out quietly so that Latimer could not hear. The soldier shook my hand, "well hello Newbie, I'm Jenkins."

I nodded in gratitude at his friendliness and watched him as he stroked a photograph of a woman.

"Your wife?" I commented.

The man nodded, "Edith," he said, "isn't she beautiful?"

I nodded in agreement and looked around at the broken faces of the soldiers. I felt a guilt surge in me, knowing that I could not save them. Latimer was beside me, he held a fob watch, I laughed slightly it reminding me of the way the Doctor too would fiddle with his own watch fob which elegantly matched his Edwardian dress. Latimer was staring at the watch and as I peered on, I could see it was broken, time had stopped; the face of the watch broken and cracked.

"My lucky charm," he said to me when he noticed me looking at in curiosity.

I laughed quietly, "I know a man with a watch like that," I told him.

"A Doctor gave me this," he remarked, "a wonderful man."

I found his answer a bit of a strange coincidence. "A doctor you say? Well that is funny; the man I also know is a Doctor."

Timothy looked at me, a smile curving on his lips, "I doubt they are the same man."

"No, you're probably right," I replied.

"So what's your lucky charm then?" Timothy asked me a moment later, shaking me from my thoughts. I wondered what to answer. I thought about it for a second and then said the first thing that came into my mind.

"Barbara," I let out and as soon as I had said it I noticed the whole group of soldiers had gathered by me and were laughing.

"Your lucky charm is a woman?" one of them asked.

I suddenly felt rather stupid but the statement was true in some sense, I certainly felt lucky when Barbara was around and unlucky when she wasn't.

"Your wife?" the soldier with the photograph asked.

I blushed for a moment, "Umm...no," I replied.

"One that got away?" asked Latimer curiously.

"A dear friend of mine, a colleague," I told them and they all nodded perhaps a little disappointed that I had nothing to tell them that denoted any sense of gossip or humour. I was a little taken back as Latimer looked at me with a sense of suspicion in his eyes. He was staring now, his eyes watching me with intent and deep interest and they seemed familiar eyes; it frightened me.

"Are you alright Latimer?" I asked.

He looked away suddenly, "I thought I heard something."

"We are in a war you know?" said one of the soldiers.

A moment later when the other soldiers had moved on, I was alone with Latimer and once again he was staring at me but his eyes seemed to gaze right through me like I was a ghost.

"What is it Latimer?" I asked.

"You're not Wilfred Owen." He said almost as matter of fact.

How had he known I wondered, had I made it obvious?

"No, I'm not," I said simply knowing no other way out of the situation, "I'm Ian Chesterton."

"The name you mentioned in the hospital?"

"Yes," I replied.

"You're a traveller in time?" He asked me suddenly. The shock hit me like thunder bolt, how could this boy know so much? He was strange, he reminded me of Susan in a way.

I stammered, "Yes, I'm here by accident, but how could you..."

Timothy looked around making sure that we were the only people in sight, "Sometimes I see things, hear things that I'm not supposed to; sometimes I see the future and what is to be."

"Because of the watch?" I queried.

"Partly," I began, "partly because I've met a time traveller before."

"Then we have even more in common," I let out not really believing what I was hearing.

Timothy looked at me seriously, "if you are here Ian, then where is Wilfred; the real Wilfred Owen I mean? I was sent to look after him in the hospital in bed five where you were."

I shook my head, "I don't know, I assume he is where I was, France in 2017, honouring the fallen, he could be with my friends and the Doctor." I told him.

Timothy's eyes widened, "The Doctor? Not a man who travels in a blue box?"

"Yes," I answered astounded, "you saw this in a vision, Timothy?"

"No," Timothy replied, "I met him..."

I was about to reply when the sound of gun fire rung around us. I squinted as fire and dust consumed my vision. I coughed and wheezed and grabbed my gun holding it to my chest in terror. I saw Latimer running away and calling, "Chesterton! This way!" I heard him yelling but I couldn't see him, my eyes were filled with dust. I was disorientated and clambered to my feet, I was lost completely...

The Doctor stared into a hazy grey silver swirling vortex.

"What is it?" Barbara asked in a state of entrancement. Wilfred and Susan stood away from it a bit apprehensive of its power; the Doctor was close to the vortex and his mouth open gaping wide in fascination.

"This is a time portal," said the Doctor in a sense of glee. "This is how this all happened."

"You mean like a time doorway? To the past?" asked Wilfred.

The doctor nodded.

"And through the door is 1917, the war, the death and my comrades still fighting and dying?" Wilfred murmured.

"I'm afraid so." Susan added, upset as she saw Wilfred stare at the vortex with a look of hatred. His eyes looked away from it staring at the graves ahead of him, living plants and beautiful growing flowers beside the dead he not long ago fought beside. Barbara wondered what he was going to do. Susan grabbed the Doctor's hand in sadness. "Grandfather isn't there a way of bringing Ian back but Wilfred remaining here?"

The Doctor put a reassuring hand on his Granddaughter's shoulder but she knew from his face that it wasn't possible.

"If I don't return," Wilfred began. "Your friend will die."

They all bowed their heads and Barbara couldn't bear it. She wanted me back but felt terrible that Wilfred had to return to the horrors of the war. She took Wilfred's hand in hers.

"Wilfred, I just want to say that you will never be forgotten, your poetry I mean..." she began but the Doctor was hushing her, annoyed at her outburst.

"No, let her speak," Wilfred commented. "You know my poetry?"

Barbara nodded. "Many will read your prose and they will finally understand the horrors of war instead of the supposed glory."

Wilfred's eyes filled up with tears. "Then I have to go back, I must write..." he said, "Besides, you being here has told me that the world now has a future, thank you."

Susan buried her face on the Doctor's shoulder knowing there was nothing she could do. Wilfred took a deep breath and smiled at his new friends as he stepped slowly into the portal. The sound was loud, a high pitched surge and the portal enveloped him until he had completely disappeared.

And I woke up. The Doctor, Barbara and Susan standing above me as I shielded my eyes from the purple grey haze beside me as it faded. I wearily got to my feet, I could see from my friend's faces what had happened. They had met Wilfred and he had returned in order to save me.

"Glad to have you back Chesterton," The Doctor said.

I nodded, appreciating his words and smiled as I saw him clutch at his fob watch to check the time. "Well we must be getting back to the TARDIS," he added discreetly, trying not to look at the graves as he did so, the Doctor didn't like to show much emotion but you could tell that it affected him. Barbara took my hand and we followed Susan and the Doctor back to the TARDIS. Before Barbara and I went inside, I watched as the portal faded away forever but I knew that the memory of Wilfred Owen never would.

"Goodbye Wilfred," Barbara said beside me and as we stepped inside the ship I pondered whether to ask the Doctor about Timothy Latimer and the fob watch, but I decided against it, meddling with history and all that. Timothy had met the Doctor but the Doctor may not have met Timothy yet; time travel! I'll never get used to it.

The End.


End file.
